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bjbj,(,( THE DAY JORGE NEGRETE DIED IN L.A. My aunt was not among the Mexican women who
took their lives that December day of 1953 when Negrete died--only forty two, famous
film star and pop singer with opera-trained voice. His body was flown back to Mexico where
every radio played his prophetic song: xico lindo y querido, si muero lejos de ti, que
digan que estoy dormido, y que me traigan aqu A year later, I rehearsed manhood as the
Hi-Fi boomed his melodies. Swollen with borrowed bravado, I d strut and sing Me gusta cantarle
al viento porque vuelan mis cantares y digo lo que yo siento por toditos los lugares.
until Dad snickered at my off-key machismo, and told me the story of how Negrete, then
a gallant cadet, courted his sister. I still picture his words, as if a forties film. A
resonant voice rises from mariachi to balcony, Negrete follows up a ladder, white roses in
hand, declares his love for my aunt radiant in her red robe. Her grandmother, Mama Meche,
sniffs, Absolutely not, that boy does nothing but croon and carouse. In tears, my aunt tosses
the roses back. I still search for my voice, never having inherited my almost Uncle Jorge
s sweet baritone. hYrj hYrj hYrj hD57 hTcw gd#H gdD57 gdYrj gd#H woskg hYrj hD57 hD57
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ing>Rossana